


Creatures of Logic

by ectoBisexual



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Aoba Jousai boys, Commission fic, Getting Together, It rains and Kindaichi is pretty and Kunimi gets a bad case of the dokis, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectoBisexual/pseuds/ectoBisexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you turn eighteen, your soulmate's name is supposed to appear somewhere on your body, as if written in their very own handwriting. When Kunimi wakes up on his eighteenth birthday, he doesn't know whether to be surprised or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creatures of Logic

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely @hipster-yams for commissioning me! I love soulmate AUs, and you were a pleasure to write for. :)
> 
> This was a $10 single-chapter commission! If you want to see more like this, please feel free to take the time to read my commission info: http://cloverguts.tumblr.com/post/129385688821/andys-emergency-commissions-please-take-2  
> Writers gotta eat too, y'all.
> 
> !!! Also also until December 11 I'll be throwing in free holiday ficlets (your pairing of choice) for every commission purchased! 
> 
> Enjoy some aoba johsai boy shenanigans !

Kunimi’s imagining things.

He has to be.

Here are some things about Kunimi Akira, if he were to surmise his life into three main points.

The first: he is logical.

He can think this through, y’know, rationally. He’s been expecting it, of course—eighteenth birthday, that’s what happens—and the actual process of waking up and seeing the haphazard scrawl like black ink just beneath his skin, peeking out in a siren song of his love life’s future, was not surprising. It was almost unreadable; boy handwriting. This was not surprising to Kunimi, because Kunimi is well versed in the art of logic.

The second: he’s _smart._

He knows how to handle a situation before the situation even presents itself, normally, and doesn’t hesitate to figure out a solution to this one before he’s out of bed.

When you turn eighteen, your soulmate’s name will appear on your skin, written in their own handwriting, like a tattoo. This is the mantra he is born with, the thing they drill into you for twelve months from the second you turn seventeen. Kunimi woke up to the plaintive taunt of the sun through curtains he forgot to shut last night, the word marked on his upper thigh; good, he had thought, somewhere he could hide it. The word was scrawled messy and chicken-scratched, so it took Kunimi a moment to read it, to register what the characters were supposed to mean together. But of course, he’s read the handwriting before. He knows how to read his best friend’s handwriting by now.

Here is the third thing about Kunimi: despite all pretences, outer appearances, and hard-earned skills in impasse and utter deadpan expressions, he’s a pretty emotional person.

“Shit,” he says, flying out of bed—because no. _No way_ is it Kindaichi’s name he’s actually reading. He wants to ask the universe, _are you serious?_ So he does, canting his chin to the ceiling and scowling because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Kindaichi is his soulmate. Kindaichi, who _does_ wear his emotions on his sleeve, who spouts anger outright and burns everything he tries to cook and likes _girls._ Kindaichi who is stubborn and tactless and only good at volleyball and shit-talking, as far as Kunimi is concerned, except—

Except of course that isn’t true. Kindaichi is emotional, but he’s passionate, too. He’ll run himself out far past his limit in a game of volleyball, as die-hard on the court as he is off of it. Kindaichi is the boy he’s known since before middle school, the boy whose stupid haircut denies gravity and who always buys Kunimi sweets when he’s studying and who is good at everything except using his brain enough to know what he must look like when he’s breathing hard, flushed in the cheeks and staring at Kunimi across the court like neither of them have a clue.

“ _Shit,_ ” Kunimi says again, reaching up to tangle his hands in his hair. He stops and composes himself before he gets the chance to rip it all out at the roots, simply smoothing his bangs back in place. He can deal with this. This is deal-able. He just has to work out a way to minimalize the damage.

By the time he’s dressed, he has to physically will his own heartbeat to calm down. That won’t do anything for his public appearances. Kunimi isn’t the kind of person to show what he’s feeling or thinking on his face, so his friends will definitely know that something is up if he doesn’t knock it off right away. He doesn’t like to feel open, exposed like that, anyway. That’s Kindaichi’s thing. Wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Kunimi feels like his pants are see-through. He marches out the door like he couldn’t care less.

.

“Come on, Kunimi, you’ve got to show us,” Oikawa insists, prodding childishly at the sleeve of Kunimi’s shirt. Kunimi won’t even tell them where it _is,_ letalone show any of them. His friends are gathered around him in a circle, cycling between trying not to look too invested and not being able to hide it. He’s not going to give in.

Kunimi has been measured with his approach so far, not going out of his way to meet Kindaichi’s eye, but not outright avoiding it, either. Even breaths, he tells himself. In, out.

“I showed you when I got _mine,_ ” Oikawa scowls. Kunimi nearly resists the urge to roll his eyes, before remembering he doesn’t have to.

“You showed everyone when you got yours. Because it was Iwaizumi.”

“It was a _big deal,_ Kunimi. To think that Iwa-chan was so blessed as to wake up and find out that it was _his_ name adorning my delicate wrists—”

“You were already dating,” Hanamaki says, bunching his eyebrows together and speaking through a mouthful of burger. “His birthday was before yours. Everyone already knew he had your name.”

“Yes, but it was _symbolic._ ”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says blandly, “shut up.”

It’s about the most affection the shorter ever shows in public, but there’s no denying the endearment there; the whole group scowls on cue. Oikawa blushes that way he always does when Iwaizumi uses his first name, and Kunimi begs the heavens—silently, mind you, carefully plotting his expression—to keep the attention turned on the other two. Tragically, no luck.

“ _I_ wanna see,” Kindaichi pipes in, and, unable to help himself, Kunimi fervently thinks _no, you really don’t._ But Kindaichi is already canting his chin up childishly and trying to catch a peek at any of Kunimi’s exposed skin, brows knotting together. “What’s the deal, Kunimi? Does she have a really ugly name or something?”

“No girl’s name is ugly,” Oikawa defends, putting on one of those stuck-up shiny prince smiles. Kindaichi launches right into a pout, already looking like he’s trying to think up some counter argument. His jumpy personality and outright stubbornness used to remind Kunimi of a petulant child, but now they kind of remind him of—

“—a puppy, Kindaichi, you’re totally like a _puppy._ You look like you’re ready to bare your teeth and challenge the girl to a fight, whoever she is.” Matsukawa is grinning wickedly, a look that always manages to come across as scary on his face. Kindaichi grows defensive, sticking out his bottom lip and glaring.

“I just want to know. I’d fucking show him if it was _my_ birthday—”

“It’s not your birthday,” Kunimi replies coolly, and as always, his voice has just that effect on Kindaichi. He watches the wave hit. Overtake. Kindaichi’s expression relaxes, attention consumed. “You can show me on your birthday, and maybe I’ll show you then, okay? That way we’re on even ground.”

Kindaichi makes a hard expression like he’s seriously trying to compute the information he was just given. Kunimi gives him a moment. Kindaichi nods, satisfied with the conclusion, and the rest of the group laugh.

“He’s got you whipped, Yuutarou,” Matsukawa teases.

“H-huh? No he doesn’t. Shut up.”

“Just like a dog.”

“I’m going to go home soon,” Kunimi announces, stretching his arms lazily in front of him like a cat. “You guys are boring. It’s supposed to be my birthday, and all I want to do is nap.”

“Anti-social,” Oikawa accuses, but Kunimi’s already gathering his things back in his bag, skilfully avoiding Kindaichi’s gaze again and planning what he’s going to do for dinner. He _so_ doesn’t need this right now. It’s bad enough any other day, trying to figure out that blurred distinction between his and Kindaichi’s friendship, and now he’s got this stupid name thing—

“I’ll walk you to the station,” Kindaichi offers, standing up like this is something they do every day. And it is, Kunimi has to remind himself, nearly slipping up and letting his emotions show on his face. Kindaichi does things like this for him all the time, because he likes him. Because they’re friends. Gestures like these have never meant anything special, so the last thing either of them need is for Kunimi to make it weird.

“Right,” Kunimi says. They start for the station together once he’s given the rest of his friends a noncommittal wave goodbye, pretending like his face isn’t flushing with the impending doom of not knowing what to do.

“Don’t make out with him, Kindaichi, he’s taken now!” Oikawa calls after them. Kindaichi turns and flips him off.

The whole walk back up the street to the station Kunimi says nothing. He doesn’t know what he _could_ say, so he chooses to remain silent, hoping Kindaichi will just think he’s being introverted like normal. He can’t stop thinking about what it would be like if Kindaichi saw, what he might say at the recognition of his own scrawled handwriting. What it would be like if they met eyes when he realised, maybe, or—if they kissed—

“Hey, Kunimi. Are you really not going to show me what name you got?”

“On your birthday, like I said,” Kunimi replies, side-eyeing him with a level of confusion. “Isn’t that what I said?”

Kindaichi draws back a little. “Oh.” He sniffs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I thought—no, you’re right.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“What did you think?”

They’re at the station now, and Kunimi stops in front of it, staring at Kindaichi hard so that a worried flush starts to spread over his cheeks. _Pretty,_ he thinks, unable to take back the thought even as the word starts a fire in his own face. He remains calm and impassive, staring up at his best friend until he answers.

“I thought maybe you didn’t want to show me because everyone else was around? I don’t know. Dumb.” He raises a hand to scratch at the back of his own head. Kunimi doesn’t want to look away from him, so he doesn’t. Moving his eyes greedily over the rise of Kindaichi’s shoulders, up to his face, set in a scowl.

“You always look so mad,” Kunimi says, ignoring what he said. Kindaichi cocks his eyebrows.

“Was that an insult?”

“No. Observation.”

“You’re one to talk.” Kindaichi’s grinning now, the kind that starts fires, sets off explosions in Kunimi’s gut like a promise. “Chronic resting bitch face, and all.”

“ _You_ have that.”

Kindaichi’s grin widens. He looks willing, excited, like supernovas waiting in the _knowing_ turn of his grin that doesn’t know anything at all. Not really, Kunimi thinks. Has to remind himself. Neither of them really know anything at all. So much for logic.

“We should hang later, y’know. Since it’s your birthday. We can totally get smashed and talk shit like we used to.”

“You’re just using me as an excuse to drink underage,” Kunimi says, but he’s smiling now, the expression coaxed out of him the way only Kindaichi knows how. They stand there beaming at each other like two stupid rays of light, and despite the itch of the secret hidden on Kunimi’s thigh, his chest feels warm.

“My thigh,” he says.

Kindaichi blinks. “Huh?”

“It’s on my upper thigh. The name.”

“Oh,” Kindaichi says, nodding like he understands something Kunimi can’t even say. “Okay. Well, I guess that’s good, so old pervs on the train can’t just… look at it and try that ‘I’m your soulmate’ trick…” He trails off, obviously not knowing how to end their conversation. The glare is back. It’s just his face, Kunimi knows, but it always makes something inside of him feel like it’s ready to do anything.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says, nodding at the train they’ve both forgotten.

Kindaichi shakes out of it. “Oh. Yeah, right.”

“Seven?”

“Seven.” He nods solemnly, as if he has just been asked to win a match for the two of them. “I’ll be there.”

Kunimi knows he will.

.

All things considered, Kunimi isn’t too bad at keeping a secret. He bats anyway anyone’s advances who ask to see the name, keeps all opinions of it vague, and happily cruises the months until his peers start to forget about it. It was dumb of him to think that his relationship with Kindaichi would change. They still hang out every other weekend, occasionally with their college friends, occasionally alone, where Kunimi can pretend like he doesn’t see Kindaichi’s eyes grazing whatever material is covering his thigh at the time. They watch scary movies and gossip about team members and study for tests. It’s normal. Everything is normal.

When Kindaichi’s birthday comes around, Kunimi has almost forgotten about the whole name thing. He walks to the station to meet him, because they’ve agreed to have lunch. He’s huddled in a coat that’s a little too big for him because the weather said it would rain later. It isn’t until he sees Kindaichi that he remembers, and by then it’s too late to wipe the expression off of his face. Kindaichi looks like he’s been woken up by way of electrocution, and he’s headed straight for Kunimi.

Until he’s stopped.

 “Hey, Kindaichi! Finally a man, eh?” He hadn’t even seen Hanamaki standing there. Hanamaki claps Kindaichi on the back, stopping him on his war path for his best friend. Kindaichi turns his kind-of-wild eyes on Hanamaki like he’s being pulled from a daze. “So? Show us the name.”

“Oh,” Kindaichi says, and the tactless bastard _actually looks at Kunimi._ Kunimi feels his face start to turn red despite his best efforts. He looks at the floor and focusses on composing himself as he hears Kindaichi cough, choke, attempt to right himself and come up with an excuse for Hanamaki.

“Well, it’s on kind of a… weird place.”

Kunimi wants to slap a hand over his face. It’s the worst excuse _ever._

Hanamaki obviously thinks so, too, because Kunimi hears the airy snort he gives in the back of his throat. “Did you forget the name already? Man, I don’t care if it’s on your dick or _what._ What did the handwriting look like? Is the name cute? You happy?”

“It’s—um—it’s like, yeah, I mean.” Kunimi wants to die. Kunimi is going to die. He looks up and Kindaichi is looking at him _again,_ gaze burning holes and—and Kunimi has no idea what he’s feeling. He can’t read that emotion, whatever it is. He feels cold all over.

“It’s a good name,” Kindaichi continues, glancing back at Hanamaki like he wasn’t just having the world’s most ambiguously-gay stare off with his best friend. “Handwriting’s real neat. _Slopey._ ”

“So nothing like yours,” Hanamaki teases, expression as interested as it can be, his eyes lidded like he’s in on some big joke. “Should be good for you, tracking them down. What do you think they’re like?”

Kindaichi’s shoulders go stiff. _Jesus._ “What do _you_ think they’re like?” he counters, which is the weakest comeback _ever_ and christgoddamnshit Kunimi is just going to roll over and die.

“Nice handwriting, probably someone who suits you, huh? You can get yourself one of those neat freak girlfriends to finally take care of your ass. Or a real pushy sex-crazed boyfriend who always wants to go down on you in public places. Either way.”

“ _Gross._ Why would I want to hear about yours and Matsukawa’s sex life? I swear to God, I will fight you right here and now.”

Hanamaki shrugs. “You asked.”

Kunimi relaxes, glad Kindaichi’s attention has been brought elsewhere. Until Hanamaki starts up from where he was leaning against the wall and starts to roll his shoulders.

“Anyway, I’ve got stuff to do. We can all hang out later or tomorrow if you want. You have a good birthday, dude.”

Kunimi is screaming on the inside. It feels like it takes years for Hanamaki to say goodbye and walk away, and even more years for Kindaichi to look at him again. He looks angry, Kunimi thinks, beginning to panic. When Kindaichi steps towards him, he feels like he’s lost the ability to breathe.

“Show me,” Kindaichi says.

Kunimi lets out the breath he was holding. “ _Huh?_ ”

“Your name, show me. You said I could look on my birthday.”

He can hear the rain coming now. Slow across the buildings, thunder somewhere far. We should go, he thinks, shivering. Kindaichi stares hard and he does it again.

Something is bubbling in Kunimi’s chest; like he’s going to cry, maybe, the feeling syrupy and shaky and unsure. He wants to tell Kindaichi no. Wants to tell him that the weather said it was going to rain later, that they had better part ways and stay away until the sky closes up or better yet huddle together someplace _small_ and wait it out together. He didn’t realise how on edge with tension for this day he was but he is—has been for some while, the anxiety of it killing him.

 “Yuutarou,” he says, voice weaker than he thought it would be, and the heavens burst open.

He registers the smell of petrichor right before the rain gets in his eyes. Kindaichi looks up disbelievingly, then all at once charges for Kunimi like it’s a knee-jerk reaction of nerves and tackles him into a wall and out of the rain.

Kindaichi is breathing hard. Kunimi is breathing hard. They’re staring at each other like they haven’t in years, childhood catching up with them, brushes of hands and leaning in to giggle or complain about Kageyama in middle school or pretending not to sneak glances when the other was changing shirts—

There’s no mistaking the emotion in his eyes this time, the hard, determined stare. He steps back, swings on his heels, rubs his neck, and looks away.

“…You wanna come over?” Kunimi asks. It snaps Kindaichi’s attention straight back to him, and the look in his eyes is _vulnerable_ now. Vulnerable because he doesn’t know if it’s reciprocated, Kunimi realises. Either he’s unsure if Kunimi’s feelings are romantic, or he’s unsure whether or not they both have the other’s name in the first place.

Kindaichi hangs awkwardly in the doorway when they get there, dripping on Kunimi’s floor.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Kunimi announces, shaking his hair free from some of the rain that caught in it on the run home. He can hear Kindaichi still standing there, uncharacteristically silent, so he doesn’t look back. He needs the hot water to calm his nerves before he even begins to think about what’s waiting for him, what Kindaichi will say or look like or do.

The water doesn’t help much; it’s like he’s attempting to drown in it. He takes the time to think the situation over. Logically. Because that’s what Kunimi does.

Logically, this is what he infers: Kindaichi likes girls. Kindaichi looks at girls like he’s trying to figure a way to fit inside their skin, to move with them in a hot dark room. He looks at them this way even during matches, scouring crowds like a frustrated teenage boy. Because he is a frustrated teenage boy.

Logically, he can also infer this: Kindaichi looks at Kunimi like that. Kindaichi looks at Kunimi differently, too, like he’s trying to figure a way to fit inside his mind. Once he called Kunimi delicate, said he was like a doll; not that he’s small. Bird bones, Kindaichi said, when he’d been drinking. Sculptured bones. _Pretty._

The shower isn’t going to help at all.

Kunimi emerges from the steam with hands raking through his hair, trying to control his breathing. He towels off and dresses in the boxers and slightly oversized shirt he’d left for himself on top of the washing basket. If Kindaichi still wants go out he can just change, he figures. It isn’t like they haven’t been seen each other in pajamas a million other times before. He says this to calm himself down, feeling electrified and on the edge of something he can’t pronounce. When he emerges from the bathroom, Kindaichi is waiting.

The other backs him up so that he’s pressed against a wall, eyes wide like they were when he immediately shoved Kunimi out of the rain. Kindaichi is looking down, down, setting Kunimi’s blood on fire—he starts to ask him what he’s doing, to ask him to stop, when Kunimi’s hand touches his thigh.

He pushes the material up and out of the way. Kunimi can’t read his expression, but he knows he must be looking at the name, at the familiar ugly boy-scrawl of _Yuutarou._ Kunimi doesn’t move; he’s too scared to breathe, holding it like something precious, looking anywhere but Kindaichi. There’s a long, long moment where neither of them say anything, the silence in the room palpable and clinging to everything in it.

Kindaichi steps back from the wall, releasing Kunimi’s shaking thigh. Then, he starts to take his shirt off.

“What are you _doing?_ ”

“Relax,” Kindaichi says, raising an eyebrow. He holds a palm up in surrender as he continues to lift the material up towards his shoulders, exposing the tanned midriff of his stomach. It takes Kunimi a moment to register that he’s done this to show off the name on his skin.

“Oh.”

Of course it’s Kunimi’s name. He doesn’t know what else he was expecting, nor can he fathom the way the gasp edged at his chest and made him feel like intangible things were blooming inside of him when he saw. His heart is going quick, little rabbit beats that threaten to spill out his mouth so that Kindaichi will hear. He can’t move again. It takes him this long—this long, hell, from childhood—to really figure out the extent of his feelings for Kindaichi.

Words start to crawl from his throat before he has the chance to stop them.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, glancing away. His face feels cold. Everything feels cold. “You know. Plenty of people have this kind of thing happen to them, and they stay friends. Friends can be soulmates too.”

“Well, duh,” Kindaichi snorts, surprising Kunimi so suddenly that he jumps. “What else have we been this whole time?”

Kunimi doesn’t want to think about why, but his stomach feels sunken. All that emotion starts to bubble up in his throat and he realises he needs to leave, to go somewhere before his face cracks. He starts to lift himself up from the wall and just ends up stepping into Kindaichi, head finding purchase in the hollow of his throat and somehow, after all this time, it feels right.

“I don’t want to stay friends,” he says, because it’s safer to say these things when his best friend can’t see his face. “I know I said that. I’m sorry.”

“Akira,” Kindaichi says, and the sound of his first name makes a shudder roll through Kunimi. He doesn’t move his head from where it’s buried in the other’s neck. He can’t. It smells like rain, and dirt, and aftershave.

Kindaichi grips him by the shoulders and gently urges him away and back into the open. He doesn’t expect it to feel safe, still, the exposing glare of Kindaichi’s eyes where he can see everything Kunimi doesn’t want him to, the maelstrom of emotion on his face and the bubbling over expressions like he might cry.

“I don’t want to stay friends either, moron,” Kindaichi scowls. Kunimi sucks in a breath through his nose, feeling shaken, unsure.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. C’mere again.”

Kunimi steps back into Kindaichi’s arms, and this time, allows the other to pull him in flush against his chest. It feels new and intimate and _right,_ the dull roar of their heartbeats together, the strong arms wrapping around his shoulders. Kunimi allows his moment of insecurity to melt again, settling, settling.

Kunimi doesn’t know when it happens, but at some point he must move his head back. Kindaichi’s hard stare bores into his like they’re both trying to figure something out. And then they’re kissing.

It’s not the best kiss he’s ever had, and it’s a little clumsy, what with their awkward position and Kindaichi’s over-eagerness. They pull away and try again, and Kunimi feels himself sink against the others body. It’s warm. That’s all he can think. Kindaichi’s hands move to his hips and everything is warm.

“I didn’t think it would feel like _that,_ ” Kindaichi breathes, bewildered when he pulls away. “I mean—it’s better, is what I—”

“You thought about it?” Kunimi murmurs, already tracing the other’s lips again, already wanting to kiss him again. He surges at the thought of it, pressing their chests together again and revelling in the tiny hitch in Kindaichi’s breath.

“O-of course I thought about it, stupid. Didn’t you?”

“Mm, yeah,” Kunimi admits, stringing his arms around the other’s neck. “Just didn’t think… well.”

“Well, what?”

“That I was your type?”

That makes Kindaichi laugh, his head coming down to rest on Kunimi’s shoulder as the desperate puffs of air escape him. It makes Kunimi smile after a moment, so overwhelmed with the happiness he’s feeling.

“Come back up here, kiss me,” he demands petulantly, and it just makes Kindaichi laugh harder.

“Oh, man, you’re gonna be so demanding now, I can already tell.”

Of course he can, Kunimi thinks.

Kindaichi has always been the only one able to figure him out.

“Kiss me,” he says again.

So Kindaichi does.


End file.
